The email from Patricia Vance at Goldman Sachs arrived on a Wednesday afternoon, two months after the Meridian crisis and three weeks after Marcus and I had started officially dating—though "dating" felt like too casual a word for what we were doing. We had dinner twice a week, talked every day, and he'd started keeping a toothbrush at my apartment. Small steps. Careful steps. But steps forward, nonetheless.
I was reviewing Q3 projections when Maya knocked on my door, her expression somewhere between excited and concerned.
"You need to see this," she said, handing me her tablet.
The subject line read: Confidential - Strategic Opportunity - Apex/Meridian Merger.
I scanned the email quickly, then read it again more slowly. Apex Technologies and Meridian Media were merging—a $4.2 billion deal that would create one of the largest digital media conglomerates in North America. They needed a strategic financial consultant to navigate the complex restructuring, assess synergies, and provide guidance through the integration process.
The consultation fee was eighteen million dollars.
"This is..." I looked up at Maya. "This is massive."
"Keep reading," she said, her tone careful.
I scrolled down to the list of stakeholders and involved parties. Investment banks, law firms, the executive teams of both companies, and—
My stomach dropped.
Ashford Capital - Minority stakeholder, Apex Technologies (12% equity position)
"Fuck," I said.
Maya nodded. "Yeah."
I set down the tablet and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Of course. Of course Alexander's company was involved. Ashford Capital had been aggressively investing in tech companies for the past year—probably trying to compensate for whatever strategic gaps had emerged after I left.
"What are you thinking?" Maya asked.
"I'm thinking this is the biggest opportunity we've ever had," I said. "And I'm thinking my ex-husband's company is involved."
"As a minority stakeholder," Maya pointed out. "He'd be in meetings, but he wouldn't be running them. You'd be working with the executive teams primarily."
"But he'd be there."
"He'd be there," she confirmed.
I picked up the tablet again, reading through the details. The scope of work was exactly what Chen Consulting had been building toward—complex financial strategy, merger integration, the kind of high-profile deal that would cement our reputation as a top-tier consultancy. We'd be working alongside Goldman Sachs, Sullivan & Cromwell, McKinsey. The best of the best.
This was the opportunity I'd been working toward for two years.
"What does your gut say?" Maya asked.
I thought about it. Really thought about it. Two years ago—hell, even a year ago—the idea of working anywhere near Alexander would have sent me into a panic. The thought of sitting across a conference table from him, of having to be professional and composed while he looked at me with those eyes that had once promised forever...
But now?
Now I felt nothing. Or not nothing—I felt annoyed. Annoyed that his presence might complicate something that should be straightforward. Annoyed that I even had to consider him as a factor in my decision.
But I didn't feel afraid. I didn't feel small. I didn't feel like I needed to protect myself from him.
"My gut says we'd be idiots to pass this up," I said. "And I'm not going to limit my career because Alexander Ashford happens to be in the room."
Maya's smile was fierce. "That's my boss."
"Set up a call with Patricia. I want to know exactly what the working relationship would look like, who's leading what, and how much interaction we'd have with Ashford Capital specifically."
"On it." She paused at the door. "For what it's worth? You're going to be brilliant. And he's going to have to sit there and watch you be brilliant and know that he lost you."
After she left, I sat with the weight of the decision for a moment. Then I picked up my phone.
Got offered something big, I texted Marcus. But there's a complication.
His response came within a minute: Tell me.
$18M merger consultation. Alexander's company is involved as a stakeholder.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: Are you going to take it?
I smiled. He wasn't telling me what to do. Wasn't offering opinions I hadn't asked for. Just asking what I was going to do, trusting that I'd make the right choice for myself.
Yes, I typed. I'm not going to let him limit what I can achieve.
Good. Want to talk about it over dinner?
Yes. But I'm buying. I'm about to be $18M richer.
You haven't won the bid yet.
Please. Have you met me?
His response was a single emoji: the flexed bicep. Then: That's my girl. Proud of you.
I set down the phone, feeling something warm and solid in my chest. This was what partnership looked like. Not someone making decisions for me or trying to protect me from discomfort. Just someone standing beside me, trusting me to know my own mind.
I pulled up Elena's number next.
"Tell me you're calling with good news," she answered.
"Eighteen million dollar consultation," I said. "Biggest deal we've ever bid on."
"Holy shit! Sophia, that's—wait. Why do you sound weird? What's wrong?"
"Alexander's company is involved."
Silence. Then: "Are you going to take it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Fuck him. Well, don't fuck him. You know what I mean."
I laughed. "I know what you mean."
"You're not the same person who left him, babe. You're not going to fall apart because he's in a meeting. You're going to walk in there in one of those power suits that cost more than his car payment and show him exactly what he lost."
"His car payment is probably fifteen thousand dollars a month."
"My point stands. You're taking this, right?"
"I'm taking it."
"Then stop second-guessing yourself and go win that bid. I want to celebrate with expensive champagne."
The call with Patricia Vance was scheduled for the next morning. I spent the evening reviewing everything I could find about both companies, the proposed merger structure, potential synergies, and likely complications. By the time I went to bed, I had a preliminary strategy mapped out.
Marcus came over around nine with Thai food and his laptop. We ate on the couch while I talked through my approach, and he listened with the kind of attention that made me feel heard rather than interrogated.
"You're going to destroy this," he said when I finished. "They'd be idiots not to hire you."
"Ashford Capital might push back."
"Let them. You're the best person for this job, and everyone in that room will know it." He paused. "How do you feel about seeing him?"
I considered the question honestly. "Annoyed. Like he's a mosquito at a picnic—irritating but not actually capable of ruining anything."
Marcus laughed. "That's a hell of a downgrade from 'love of my life.'"
"He was never the love of my life. I just didn't know that yet." I looked at him. "I'm learning what that actually looks like."
His expression softened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He kissed me then, slow and sweet, and I let myself sink into it. Let myself feel wanted and seen and valued. Let myself believe that maybe I could have this—the career and the partnership, the empire and the connection.
When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine. "You're going to be amazing tomorrow. And I'm going to be sitting here being proud of you and maybe a little smug that you're mine."
"I'm not yours," I said automatically.
"You're right. You're yours. But you're choosing to share yourself with me, and that makes me the luckiest bastard in New York."
God, he was dangerous.
The call with Patricia was at ten AM. Maya sat in on it, taking notes while I asked questions about scope, timeline, deliverables, and—most importantly—the working structure.
"Chen Consulting would be the primary strategic financial consultant," Patricia explained. "You'd be working directly with both executive teams, reporting to the board, and coordinating with Goldman Sachs on the financial modeling. Ashford Capital, as a minority stakeholder in Apex, would have representation in key meetings, but they're not driving the process."
"What does 'representation in key meetings' mean specifically?" I asked.
"Alexander Ashford or his designated representative would attend major milestone meetings—kickoff, preliminary findings, final recommendations. Probably six to eight meetings over the four-month timeline."
Six to eight meetings. I could handle six to eight meetings.
"And Chen Consulting would be leading those meetings?"
"You'd be presenting your findings and recommendations, yes. This is your show, Ms. Chen. We're bringing you in because of your strategic vision and your track record. Everyone else is supporting that vision."
After the call ended, Maya looked at me. "So?"
"So we're going to put together the best proposal they've ever seen," I said. "And we're going to win this."
We spent the next week building the proposal. I pulled in two of our senior consultants, and we worked sixteen-hour days mapping out the strategy, identifying potential synergies, flagging risks, and creating a timeline that was aggressive but achievable.
The proposal we submitted was seventy-three pages of brilliance.
The response came five days later: we'd been shortlisted along with two other firms. Final presentations would be in person, next week, at the Apex Technologies headquarters.
"All stakeholders will be present," Patricia's email noted.
All stakeholders. Including Alexander.
I forwarded the email to Maya with a single line: Game time.
Her response: Let's fucking go.
The night before the presentation, I stood in my closet trying to decide what to wear. The black Armani suit that made me feel invincible? The navy Dior that was elegant and understated? The charcoal Theory that split the difference?
My phone rang. Marcus.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Confident. Ready. Maybe a little annoyed that I'm spending mental energy on what to wear."
"Wear the black Armani. The one with the sharp shoulders."
"How do you know about my black Armani?"
"Because you wore it to the Goldman Sachs meeting, and you looked like you could buy and sell everyone in the room. Wear that one."
I smiled. "Okay."
"And Sophia? He's going to be in that room tomorrow, and he's going to see exactly what he lost. But more importantly, you're going to walk in there knowing exactly what you've gained. Everything you've built, everything you've become—that's all you. He doesn't get credit for any of it."
"I know."
"I know you know. I just wanted to remind you."
After we hung up, I pulled out the black Armani and laid it on the bed. Marcus was right. This was the one.
The Apex Technologies headquarters were in a gleaming tower in Midtown. Maya and I arrived thirty minutes early, rolling our presentation materials in a sleek case that had cost more than my first month's rent in Queens.
We were shown to a large conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The table could seat twenty. There were already people there—executives from both companies, lawyers, investment bankers.
And Alexander.
He was standing near the windows, talking to someone I didn't recognize. He looked thinner than the last time I saw him, and there was something in his posture that seemed less certain than it used to be. He was wearing a Tom Ford suit that probably cost eight thousand dollars, but somehow he looked diminished in it.
He saw me at the same moment I saw him.
I watched the recognition cross his face, followed by something that might have been hope or longing or regret. He started to move toward me.
I turned to Maya. "Let's set up."
We spent the next twenty minutes arranging our materials, testing the presentation system, and reviewing our talking points. I was aware of Alexander in my peripheral vision, aware of him watching me, but I didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him.
He was irrelevant.
Patricia Vance called the meeting to order at exactly ten AM. "Thank you all for being here. We're excited to hear Chen Consulting's proposal for the strategic financial consultation on the Apex-Meridian merger. Ms. Chen, the floor is yours."
I stood, smoothed my jacket, and smiled at the room. "Thank you, Patricia. Good morning, everyone."
For the next forty-five minutes, I presented our strategy. I walked them through our analysis of both companies, identified twelve key synergy opportunities they hadn't considered, flagged three major risks that needed immediate attention, and laid out a timeline that would have them integrated and operating efficiently within six months of close.
I was brilliant. I knew I was brilliant. And I could see in their faces that they knew it too.
Alexander tried to interject twice. Once to ask a question about revenue recognition that I'd already addressed in slide seventeen. Once to suggest an alternative approach to the operational integration that would have added three months to the timeline and cost them millions in efficiency losses.
I answered the first question patiently, referencing the specific slide. I dismantled the second suggestion in under thirty seconds, explaining exactly why his approach would be suboptimal.
He didn't try again.
When I finished, there was a moment of silence. Then Patricia started clapping, and the rest of the room joined in.
"That was exceptional, Ms. Chen," said David Morrison, the CEO of Apex. "Truly exceptional. You've identified opportunities we hadn't even considered."
"That's what we do," I said simply.
The questions that followed were thoughtful and engaged. I answered each one with precision, and Maya jumped in with supporting data when needed. We were a seamless team.
Alexander was silent.
After an hour, Patricia called for a break. "We'll reconvene in fifteen minutes to discuss next steps."
People filed out toward the coffee station in the hallway. I was packing up my laptop when I felt someone approach.
"Sophia."
I looked up. Alexander was standing three feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression uncertain.
"That was... you were incredible in there."
"Thank you." I went back to packing my materials.
"I didn't realize—I mean, I knew you were doing well, but seeing you present like that... You've really built something amazing."
"Yes, I have." I closed my laptop case and looked at him directly. "Was there something you needed, Alexander? A question about the proposal?"
"I—no. I just wanted to say..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words. "I've been trying to reach you. To talk. I know you're busy, but I thought maybe we could get coffee sometime. Catch up."
I stared at him. "Catch up."
"Yeah. I mean, we were married for seven years. We were friends before that. I just thought—"
"No."
He blinked. "No?"
"No, we're not going to get coffee. No, we're not going to catch up. No, we don't have a relationship outside of the professional context we're currently in." I picked up my bag. "If you have questions about the proposal or the merger consultation, you can direct them to me during official meetings or via email through the proper channels. Otherwise, we have nothing to discuss."
"Sophia, please. I know I hurt you—"
"You did. Two years ago. I've moved on. I suggest you do the same."
"Have you?" His voice dropped. "Moved on? Because I haven't. I think about you every day. About what I lost. What we could have—"
"Alexander." I cut him off, my voice sharp. "I don't care what you think about. I don't care what you've lost. And I certainly don't care about what we 'could have' had. We had seven years, and you spent them taking me for granted and fucking your business partner. That's done. We're done. The only reason we're in the same room right now is because you happen to be a minority stakeholder in a company that's smart enough to hire me. That's it. That's the extent of our relationship."
His face had gone pale. "I'm trying to apologize."
"I don't want your apology. I don't need your apology. I needed it two years ago, and you were too busy justifying your choices to give it to me. Now?" I shrugged. "Now it's irrelevant. You're irrelevant."
I walked past him toward the door, then paused and looked back. "If Chen Consulting is awarded this contract, I expect you to be professional in all our interactions. That means no personal conversations, no attempts to 'catch up,' no emails or calls outside of official business. If you can't handle that, I suggest you recuse yourself from the stakeholder meetings. Because I'm not going to let your discomfort interfere with my work."
I didn't wait for his response. I walked out of the conference room with my head high and my shoulders back, and I didn't look back.
Maya was waiting in the hallway, two cups of coffee in her hands. She handed me one. "You okay?"
"I'm perfect," I said. And I meant it.
We got the call three days later. Chen Consulting had been awarded the contract.
Eighteen million dollars. Four months of work. The highest-profile merger consultation in our company's history.
And Alexander Ashford would have to sit in meetings and watch me be brilliant and know that he'd lost me forever.
I called Marcus first. Then Elena. Then my parents.
Then I walked into the main office where my team of fifteen brilliant, dedicated people were working, and I told them we'd just landed the biggest deal in our company's history.
The celebration lasted until midnight.
And when I finally got home, exhausted and happy and proud, I stood at my window looking out at the city I'd conquered and thought about the woman I'd been two years ago.
She wouldn't recognize me now. Wouldn't recognize this life, this confidence, this absolute certainty in my own worth.
And that was exactly how it should be.
I'd built this. Every piece of it. The company, the reputation, the life, the woman I'd become.
Alexander Ashford was just a footnote in my story now. A chapter I'd closed and moved past.